Desperate Measures
by JantoJones
Summary: Illya resorts to something desperate in order to persuade a young agent to follow orders. (warning for mentions of suicide)


"Come on, come on, come on."

U.N.C.L.E. agent Mike Bryant repeated the two words over and over as he stared through the trees at the dilapidated warehouse. Mike had only been a section 2 agent for three months and this raid on a THRUSH satrap was his first major assignment. He'd been partnered with a senior agent for the mission, as it was general practice for new agents for the first three missions.

To the envy of many others, Bryant had been assigned to Illya Kuryakin. The Russian, and his partner Napoleon Solo, were the two agents everyone wanted a chance to, temporarily, work with.

The mission was supposed to a simple, albeit time-sensitive, one. They had infiltrated the satrap without trouble, disposing of anyone who got in the way, and had recovered the plans they were after. U.N.C.L.E. had discovered that THRUSH were planning a chemical attack somewhere in the United States. They knew when it was to take place, but not where. The only wrinkle in the retrieval plan was the location of the satrap. It was surrounded, for some distance and on all sides, by trees. The woodland was sparse but it meant the helicopter wouldn't be able to pick them up directly.

They had found the file they needed easily enough, but it was encrypted and would have to be sent back to HQ. Illya gave the file to Mike and ordered him to go on ahead while he stayed behind to plant some explosives. He assured the junior agent that he would follow as soon as possible.

Believing Mr Kuryakin to be not that far behind, Mike decided to stop and wait. Twenty minutes later, there was still no sign of the blond. Movement to one end of the warehouse grabbed his attention and he watched as Kuryakin walked out of the building. That set alarm bells ringing for the younger agent. Everyone knew Mr Kuryakin liked to play it cool, but he wasn't stupid enough to hang around near an imminent boom.

Looking closer, Bryant realised that Illya wasn't walking, he was limping. Bringing up the sight-scope from his gun, Mike could see a red stain just above Kuryakin's waistband. He silently prayed the incendiary expert had set a long timer on his explosives.

"Come on Kuryakin," he muttered under his breath. "Just a bit further."

Thirty seconds later, the inevitable happened. Illya had gotten far enough away not to get caught up in the explosion, but couldn't outpace the shockwave. It lifted him from his feet and deposited him several feet ahead. He landed heavily and lay motionless. Mike was running towards him before he even realised.

Dropping to his knees, Bryant carefully rolled Kuryakin onto his back. A quick pulse check told him that the senior agent was still alive. Looking down at the blood stain, he found that Illya had taken a bullet just above the hip. It was impossible to tell what injuries the explosion may have caused.

"Mr Kuryakin Sir," Mike practically whispered, as he patted the injured man's cheek. "Please wake up. Mr Solo will kill me if I go back without you."

What felt like an eternity later, Illya began to stir. Unfocused blue eyes looked up at Mike.

"It seems we failed to take out all of the little birdies," he slurred. "Why are you still here?"

"I was waiting for you," Bryant told him. "Just as well I did, considering your current condition."

"Mr Bryant," Illya gasped, as he tried to sit up. "We have fewer than twenty four hours to get the information to HQ and deciphered. You don't have time to wait for me."

Mike helped Illya into a sitting position. He was quite shocked at the angry expression on the Russian's face.

"The rendezvous point is only fifteen minutes away."

"Exactly," Illya growled back. "Which means you should already be in the air. Go Now!"

"But, what about you?"

"I shall contact HQ and apprise them of the situation. They will send help for me."

Mike knew he couldn't simply leave Kuryakin. He'd been in the army before joining U.N.C.L.E. and soldiers never left a man behind. Besides, how would it look if the Section 2 Number 2 died on his watch?

"I can't leave you here to die," he argued.

"You can and you will." Kuryakin snapped back, pain evident in his voice. "If you want to be a section 2 agent, you must learn that we are expendable. The mission is what matters. Leave now or I will solve your dilemma for you."

"What do you mean?" Mike asked, clearly confused.

Wincing with every movement, Illya slid his gun from its holster. He released the safety and held the weapon to his own head.

"What are you doing Sir?!"

"My condition is causing you to hesitate, so I will alter my condition for you," Kuryakin informed him, with a strangely calm tone of voice. "Believe me Mr Bryant; I have no wish for my life to end, especially by my own hand. However, if it spurs you in to action, then so be it."

Mike tried to tell himself that Mr Kuryakin would not follow through on his threat, but he'd heard so many stories about the crazy Russian. He heard other agents talking about Illya's ability to walk the thin line between inspiration and insanity.

"I'm going to count to ten," Illya continued. "If you are not running by the time I finish, you will have even more explaining to do in your report."

For a moment, it seemed as if Mike was going to stay put, but the slightest twitch of Illya's trigger figure was enough to bring him to his senses.

"See you in New York," he called over his shoulder as he set off towards the helicopter.

Illya heaved a huge sigh of relief. He had been quite prepared to pull the trigger but was immensely happy he hadn't had to do it, as he wasn't ready to die yet. He waited until Mike was out of sight before holstering his weapon and carefully manoeuvring himself back into a lying position. He whimpered softly as his, undoubtedly, broken ribs protested. Reaching for his communicator, Illya opened a channel to his usual partner.

"Nice to hear from you Illya," Napoleon's cheerful voice came from the device. "How goes it?"

"Mr Bryant is on his way back with the intelligence," the Russian told him. "It should be with you within the hour."

"Do I take it you are _not _on your way back?"

Illya explained the situation to Napoleon and politely asked if a rescue would be at all possible.

"Not a problem Tovarisch," Solo assured him, his breezy tone hiding his concern for his friend. "I'm sure Mr Waverly will happily allow for a medical evac team. Sit tight Chum, it won't be long."

Illya thanked his partner then stowed his communicator back into his pocket. Knowing help would soon arrive; he stopped against the pain and allowed the pain to take him into darkness.

MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUM

It was too bright when Illya finally re-emerged from the darkness. That could only mean he was in medical. He'd often wondered how a patient was supposed to rest comfortably under eyeball searing lights. Turning his head sideways he was happy to see Napoleon in his usual vigil position. The fact the American was flicking through a magazine told Illya his prognosis would be good.

"Napoleon?" He croaked through a dry throat. "Did you stop the attack?"

Putting his magazine down, Napoleon asked the nurse to bring some ice chips before replying to Illya's question.

"We did," he told him with a smile. "You'll never guess what their target was."

"I'm too tired for guessing games."

"The Pentagon."

"Well, you have to admire their ambition."

"I wouldn't go that far Mr Kuryakin."

Napoleon stood up as Mr Waverly entered and offered him his seat. The old man refused the offer with a dismissive wave.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," he continued. "I have been given a rather disturbing and slightly hysterical report from Mr Bryant regarding your threat to kill yourself."

"It had to be done Sir." Illya confessed. "But I'm afraid Mike Bryant will not make a good enforcement agent."

"I have no doubt," Waverly agreed. "Luckily for all of us, the young man has requested a transfer to a non-field position. For future reference Mr Kuryakin, I would appreciate it if you could refrain from taking yourself hostage. It costs a lot of time and money to train agents for the field."

Illya smiled. "I shall do my best Sir."

Mr Waverly offered a slightly irritated smile, and then bid them both a farewell.

"Now you're back with us," Napoleon began. "I'd better go and do some actual work."

Just before leaving the room, Solo turned back to his partner.

"By the way Illya, pull another stunt like that and I'll demote you so fast your head will spin."

The Russian simply rolled his eyes at the American, both of them knowing he would always do what was necessary.

The End


End file.
